Transparent. She watched from the window. Alone. Nobody ever came or went. Unloved. Behind the window there was silence. She stood while suns came and went, looking and waiting for him. The long night, a dark hung by an invisible string. Sway in the moonlight, but don’t turn back. Never look away from his eyes. She couldn’t remember anymore, and yet she had nothing but her face in this glass hopeful and waiting. I have lost. I don’t expect anything but voices and blurs. I have come to this place of erasing and endings. There is a dog barking through the fence and a man smoking cigarettes one after another. There is a radio blaring awful music over the other fence and a woman yelling through the music. There are cars and trucks and motors. The carpet has cigarette burns and the horizon isn’t visible. I am a prisoner trying not to be. And as usual I wait. Then, he got up in the middle of the night looking for a snake. She was not asleep, he was not awake. There were images between them, an unbreakable screen pain. In her head, on the ceiling- sounds that would not go, old smiles gone forever. Now there was the night, this old apartment filled with dirty animals. Blame and cold bodies. She had so many pictures, there was no memory left. Just replay and flashback. Just a piercing ache inside. She felt no connection to the night, disassociation. The devastation of the ego involves the entire world. The transparency of love must be matched by obliqueness. I am on a wire, just a thread. Sharpened by the dull things that threaten my escape from inertia. Of course I cannot sleep, the night is long. How long have I been here breathing heavy, leaving dreams in my wake. I have taken the need to die while still lost into my own hands. I have taken the pains of the deep to their origin. There is nobody here but me mocking my dead. With or without me you cannot live. Your job will outlast you and your penis will grow limp. The silence will engulf you in its swamps. The long haired girls will unleash their madness carelessly into your stupor and you will grope, having forgotten me. I let go of these tangles and tears. I stand at the precipice of the new world. A world where I am a woman who need not pretend to be weak, for your sake. Where your fear of being mothered isn’t greater than my calling to mother the child who pretends he isn’t idle. I have seen the light where your darkness has hid me and I have come to the ending of night’s perverse isolation. I mourn the loss of god between us. I mourn the memories of a light I can no longer find. And if it was me I mourn myself for this curse, for the vengeance inflicted that I know not the source. I have taken the torment and buried myself in its past. I have sat near the sadness and wept for its grief. But I myself had no sound, only deep silence. Penetrating loss. A void so deep I cannot contain the remains of its ashes. Were there a fire left, any place to jump- I would. But nothing, just this ending that does not end in me. I am not the world I once was. And I am not sure what this means. Outside there are still moving sounds- of people and the crashing of minds. A long time ago I wrote word that I thought would have impact but I don’t feel that way anymore. I shaved my head because I hadn’t come all the way. Not that it matters, that I’m traumatized and invisible. All I do is look for ways to destroy myself. I know I’m unloveable, I set it up. We have these grooves. I am in an empty bedroom, I have no bed or love. The windows are cold to the touch, I am glass. The carpet is gray, stained. The walls are gray, untouched. The ceiling is spotted with shadows and I, am alone. There are pieces of me left in various places, they’ll be back. Out searching for meaning or affection, out dreaming to be seen. I was once believing it was possible but now I know it’s not. That I could fill this room with color or warmth, it’s gone. Everything changes, turns cold and gray, gets buried. Disappears. But I will remember you, even though you’ll all forget me. In the cracks, in the whispers you’ll be bright and gone. You can think whatever you need to think to go on. Clearly I’m dead and you’re lost in the noises of my graveyard. And so the world grows smaller as I float away. The voices become distant thundering echoes, The memories become rain clouds. There is a storm coming. In the distance I float towards a dark recollection upon the horizon. And no one is an island unless they must be. Even then in that imagined aloneness there is that which carries me towards or away from this world, this world made of stone and ice.
I’ve been walking in circles most of the day. There is space everywhere, throughout and inside. An overwhelming subtle grief- too soft to react, its in the air. The air, like water- I swim through these autumn days filled with nothing but me. Like the leaves that fall from these trees, I let go of whatever I imagined was mine. I dress in monotonous rags. I shaved my head because the cut wasn’t enough, I needed to go deeper- to exact the loss of me. I am invisible, I do not exist. My dog licks my face- apparently she still knows I’m here. It’s common knowledge that dogs and cats can see the ghosts of the dead. My cat’s eyes follow me through the room in the dark at night. He watches me closely, ghosts don’t sleep- they’re restless for the indescribable disappearance. So I have entered this blurry, surreal realm where you aren’t there either- because I’m not. I’ve conjured these words with a great discipline because I have no interest in making myself heard, however warped it ever was. My hand moves and I watch her breathe. This is the other side of where the white horse goes. I didn’t just write the story I lived it- I have been all of them. How can I expect this sky not to bleed for its earth. How can I expect a shadow to see a footprint. How can I explain or express a cloud that soon will leave. It’s going to be raining soon, there will be tears somewhere falling. Transparent, hanging by a limb. Upside down digging for light. I was laying here just now listening to songs that make you remember sad things and how love leaves and breaks the ice and becomes the stone. How could I have known this. That he couldn’t love me and that you didn’t seem to see me at all. Here, underneath this sky made of skin…one day a star fell. The star was me. I rose from the earth dressed in this body. God never cared what I looked like. I was beautiful and immature. I was angry and perfect. I created crisis and miracles. I was made of her insane and immaculate love. Sharada Devi